Kiss But Don't Tell
by Sparkly-elf
Summary: He loved her so much, it drove him to kill off all his male competition. Second victim: Sanada Yukimura, starting from the weakest and working his way up. Set in the future. Very AkiraxYuya and KyoxYuya. Also MahiroBenitora.
1. In The Tiger's Jaws

**PLEASE READ! Bear in mind, this is not the original first chapter, this is the edited version.**

**Summary:** In this chapter, Akira starts the first step of his plan by slipping his little capsule into Benitora. It is all set in the present time, not the past like the book.

**Author's Note:** I have no idea how I thought of this, but what the hey? I just kinda wanted to do something different is all. By the way, I altered a few of the characters, Akira has eyes and can see perfectly and Sasuke is still young but not twelve. Other alterations you may notice later on.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Samurai Deeper Kyo, but I wish I did, oh yay. That's what I want for Christmas.

**In The Tiger's Den**

The garden outside was littered with beer cans and general waste, the overgrown grass full to the brim with weeds and patches of dead grass. A broken down house in possibly the worst part of the Suburbs, how anyone could live there and still manage to stay alive was a complete mystery. Akira sighed, walking down the broken pathway, stumbling slightly over the mismatched stones. His knees brushed off the lengthy grass as he reached the peeling brown door. He rapped his fist off the rotting wood and waited.

Akira tutted. One would think, being an artist, one would find the time to paint ones own front door? Then again, anything that involved physical labour was way beyond Benitora to so much as incline his head.

Physical labour also included answering aforementioned front door, Akira sighed and knocked, with a little less patience this time.

"Just a second!" He heard the muffled cry from beyond the decaying oak, along with a slam as Benitora stumbled on his way to the door, fiddled about with the rusty latch and swung it open.

Benitora, being nearly 6 foot 3", towered over Akira who only came to the man's chin, and being on the step, he only reached to an intricately tattooed pectoral muscle. Dressed in an unbuttoned, white shirt with rolled up sleeves, which was liberally splattered with many hues of blue, orange and purple, baggy denim flares (also ruined with paint) and an old pair of faded white running shoes, he tilted his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wore a wooden necklace and a red beaded bracelet on his left arm, the red clashing rather attractively with a tribal design that travelled up to his elbow and stopped in the middle of his bicep. He smelled distinctly to paint and turpentine, lightly tanned skin splattered with flecks of paint.

He laid a paint-covered hand to the doorframe and leaned against it, his face splitting into his trademark (if often lecherous) grin.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't Akira-han." Narrow eyes wandered lazily over him, taking in the old jeans and white rain jacket with blue stripes along the sides, then focusing on his face.

"Not busy I hope?" Akira asked, cocking his head to the side.

Benitora merely shrugged. "Not really," he said, shaking his head of fierce red hair, closely cropped and, along with the rest of him, splattered with paint. "You want somethin'?"

"Can I not simply want to come down to your _lovely estate_ and visit you?" A slight edge of sarcasm laced his words.

Benitora stared pointedly at him. "Not unless you wanted something." He still grinned, but now the grin bared abnormally sharp canines and the stare became more focused. "So… what?"

Akira hung his head and sighed, forcing his cheek muscles down into what he knew looked like a frown. "Is there any chance we could talk inside?

Unknowingly, seeing the frown in turn made Benitora too adopt a serious facial grace and leaned in closely to better hear the blonde man.

"… Why?" He said quietly, sceptically.

Akira rubbed his forearms in what he thought was a self-conscious gesture and avoided eye contact. "It's kind of… a personal matter…"

A blink, a confused noise, then a shrug until he finally mutters; "Alright, come in then. And watch the stack."

Apparently the "stack" was a pile of old canvas packaging piled up in a precarious heap behind the door. Akira edged around it, and closed the door behind him, taking in the sudden ominous feeling of the latch clinking into place, watching 'Tora's back as he rounded a corner into the living room, and he smirked.

_Let the game begin._

Following the Tiger's back, he came to the colourfully decorated living room. Nothing particularly special about the furniture, two brown leather sofas, a table and plasma screen TV, but something about the room jumped, as a party would but with no people.

Each wall was a splash of vivid colour, the remains of old paintings and unfinished work, of people and monsters and intricate designs like a foreign language. There were dragons and tigers protecting the fireplace, a beautiful tribute to 'Tora's own mind, and often silly obsession with the tiger; as both symbol and animal.

Benitora was not only artistically gifted with both pencil and paintbrush, but with the hammer and chisel too. As Akira passed into the second hallway, he passed a large statue, about waist height, of a figure of a woman bursting fourth from the knarled trunk of a tree. The black marble set the piece off beautifully, it's rough design, often smooth only in places that were curved, with hard lines and roughly cut branches, it was a piece to be admired.

They stopped at a door with an intricate red design. After a few seconds of examination, Akira realised it was a tiger made completely out of red, orange and black hiragana sentences.

Shuffling around in his deep denim pockets, 'Tora retrieved a set of keys and jabbed a particularly fat key into the lock. He fumbled for a few seconds and opened the door slowly, before Akira realised there wasn't something quite right about him today.

Shaking hands fumbled with the keys and put them back into his pocket, a tattooed back was bent slightly and the bounce in his step was reduced barely to a shuffle.

Akira cocked his head to the side, and followed the other man into the large lofty space. The dull beat of Basement Jaxx quietly came from his 250-watt speakers. A shaking, paint covered hand switched the CD player off and ran through paint speckled hair for a second, before returning his tired gaze to meet Akira's.

But the blonde man's gaze was fixed on something different.

Fixed wasn't so much as utterly fascinated. His heart pounded fast against his ribs, baby blue eyes set bright and alight with endearment.

Magnificently, proudly standing three-quarters finished in an easel was a painting of a woman. She sat at a table, at a café or a restaurant perhaps, it didn't matter, holding a steaming mug of something, her green eyed gaze lingering out the window to watch the rain. She was dressed in a wine coloured shirt and black trousers, her long golden hair falling slightly over one shoulder and into her eyes. Her fingernails were painted a soft purple, and she sat, holding herself with an air of grace and beauty. There was a surreal glow to it, though unfinished, the lights above her head set off a certain… angelic nature about her.

Akira salivated with swallow, and edged closer to the paining, A1 in paper size and Benitora watched with interest.

"Yuya…" He breathed, hoarse and confined, her name leaving a lingering taste on his lips.

Benitora smiled and walked closer to the painting. "Is that… really who you see?"

He raised a paint-covered hand and lightly brushed over it, lingering on the places yet to be finished. "These oils I got, they really brought out the colour… But no, it's not Yuya-han."

Akira stared, a hand coming up to his chin in a thoughtful way, a light smile gracing his bow-shaped lips. He waited for Benitora to continue.

"You know… I saw this girl a few months ago. In a restaurant, I was looking for a place to bring Mahiro-han for her birthday. I… thought it was Yuya too, the first time I saw her. But it wasn't." He paused and let his hand fall to his side.

Akira had seen that look before, the same glassy-eyed, flushed sort of appearance, the look an artist gets once they have found a muse.

"Beautiful little thing, isn't she? At least I thought so at the time. Meh, well I took the anti-impressionists way out and took notes, then came home and just… started painting. Haven't been able to finish it though. There's something… something missing."

He stared for a moment longer, then shakily made his way to his desk and grabbed a large paintbrush and a can of grey paint.

Akira looked away from the painting, instead staring around the room, taking in the scent of pencil shavings and the sharp smell of oil, turpentine and paint, and strangely enough there was a strong scent of coffee. He stared around, until his eyes found the pot of coffee perched on a heating grill.

The floor was blanketed in white coverings, turned grey from use and liberally splattered in paint and littered with bits of pencil and old, hard paintbrushes. There was a couch, stained with flecks of paint and Akira sat himself down to watch the artist at play.

Not really paying attention to Benitora, who popped the lid of the can, dipped the brush in and began to paint on the large canvas at the opposite side of the room, he stared around, taking everything in.

You could tell a lot about a person by the way they lived, Benitora just so happened to be an easy subject for this sort of study.

Despite the erratic, and often random state of the room, Benitora liked thing to be in a certain order. For example, one side of the room held a side table with chisels; various sized hammers and curved chisel blades. The floor was littered with the remains of marble, granite and other types of stone. Blocks of unfinished sculptures stood in order of size against the wall.

Opposite that corner was a cupboard, around which stood canvases, both finished and unfinished. The cupboard doors were held together with a length of twine, while canvas material, wood and brushes protruded from the cracks in the wooden doors. Being around Benitora long enough, he knew that the bottom drawers of the cupboard held some of his more graphic and elicit drawings, sketches and paintings, including the storyboards for one of his current running hentai comics. One comic whom Akira vowed he would never, ever read.

Beside the couch was a desk and a swivel chair, above which was a clipboard covered in tonnes of sketches and notes.

The artistic world rarely held much money, Benitora being no exception. Though, one comic he made did rake in a fair bit of cash, at least enough to pay the electricity bill. A comic he lovingly called _Hirokushimon_, about a spear infused with the power of the sun, wielded by a dynast-king's heir. They story was solid and the art work; incredible, but the production line was weak and paid little. Benitora however, was just happy he got it published.

Again, Akira laid his attention to the red haired man, now none too carefully painting a large canvas infront of him of a massive white and grey design, shaped odly in the form of a flower. He watched the long arms flex back and fourth, with such expert sort of grace it was almost like a dance. But then there was a stumble and the paintbrush fell, landing with a messy splat on the floor.

Benitora smiled, weakly, and stooped to pick up his brush with a shivering hand. As he rose back up, his expression softened and his eyelids dropped. Akira leaned forward on the chair and watched as he raised a paint-covered hand to cover his dazed eyes, swaying on the spot.

"'Tora-san, you okay?"

"Wha…? Yeah, f-fine. I just need… need more coffee…"

He made his way to a heating grill beside his desk and poured the steaming brown liquid into a chipped mug, closing his narrow eyes as he drank, then sighed.

"How long have you been in here, 'Tora-san?" He said, smiling knowingly at him.

Benitora stared, then tutted and leaned against the opposite side of the couch, coffee mug still in hand. Still grinning cheekily, though it was a little faded, he drank more coffee and gestured to the canvas in the easel.

"About a week now, because of _that_."

Barely a year ago, Akira met Benitora, one of Kyo's "friends". Needless to say, they didn't exactly get along at the beginning, but as time went on, and they went out for drinks with the rest of the gang, Benitora forgot the past and grew a little closer to Akira, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders with a smile and offering more beer. Akira, accepting the beer with a forced smile, understood that Benitora was here to stay, and kept a somewhat civil tongue.

He walked over to the coffee heater, topped up his mug and drank again.

"A week? Are you serious?" Akira exclaimed.

'Tora lay his mug on the floor and stretched with a sigh. "Yep".

Akira stared as his already lanky body lengthened to a considerable height. The white shirt flared open, the shoulders wrinkling as he raised his arms above his head. He caught the intricately designed tattoos on the man's bared torso, including the curling form of a tiger holding the sun in its left paw, right over his heart. As his abdomen stretched, Akira noticed how very thin Benitora had become, his ribs making jagged, unattractive ridges under his skin and his toned waist almost sunken in. Even his arms had taken on a thin appearance.

"'Tora-san… you can't keep doing this to yourself." He said slowly, quietly.

Wearily, Benitora flopped onto the couch opposite Akira with his coffee mug, once again raising the rim of the chipped mug to his chapped lips, avoiding the question and swung his long legs over the rest of the couch, the sole of his shoes barely missing Akira's jeans.

"Why do you do this? Don't you ever take a break in between, it's unhealthy not to!" Of course, he was referring to Benitora's painting habits. The man had a horrible habit of painting alone, without sleep and often food for days on end. His mood would become somewhat floaty, dreamy as he painted, yet unbearably quiet. And as he finished, he would be left tired and somewhat sated. He would retire, wash, eat and regain his strength and go out for a drink, of course, only to retreat back again, once another inspiration struck. Those so used to him being the loud, joking, flirtatious part of the group would often begin to miss his sunny attitude and wise cracking nature.

"I dunno…" He scratched the back of his neck in a typically self-conscious way. "Once I get going, I can't really stop."

Then there was silence. An uncomfortable silence.

Akira looked at his watch and timed himself. _Five minutes…_

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he took out a packet of chewing gum and took the capsule in between his teeth, rolling it around in his mouth for a few seconds before hiding it behind his molars, against the inside of his cheek. _Starting now…_

"Want one?" He gestured to Benitora with the empty packet.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Akira?" Benitora started. "Why are you here?"

The blonde man stared at his earnest expression, then looked away and played with his fingers.

"Didn't you say," he continued his question, "you had something personal you wanted to talk about?"

Akira continued playing with his thumbs, trying his level best to hide his predatorial smirk, then raised a thoughtful hand to his chin, his blonde hair falling into his eyes. _Did you know, 'Tora, that when a tiger stalks its prey it hides, luring the helpless animal into a false sense of security? Did you also know that a tiger pounces only when its prey is most vulnerable, sinking its claws and teeth into its tender hide, ripping it apart inch by inch? _

"They're… worried about you, 'Tora-san…"

"Hmm…?"

"Bon-san, Sasuke-san, Mahiro-san, Yuya-san…" he paused when he said her name and bit his lower lip, savouring the feeling, "even Kyo-san was asking about you. You've been gone for six days."

He raised his legs and kneeled up on the couch, shifting Benitora's legs to the side so he could fit. Leaning onto the back of the couch with his left arm, he turned to face the red haired man and stared down at him, with what he sincerely hoped was an honest, worried expression.

"Remember last time this happened?" He lowered his voice. "When Sasuke-san found you? 'Tora-san, he's only fifteen. He isn't used to seeing people unconscious. To be honest, I don't think anyone is. You went four days, _four days 'Tora_, without food and collapsed!"

Akira leaned in on the couch; Benitora shifted his weight to allow the other man more room.

"Does art really mean this much to you? That you would put yourself in danger for the sake of it?"

Benitora quirked a slight smile, holding the mug up to his face, resting his elbows on his chest. "You don't get it, do you?"

He sighed and drank his coffee.

"When I paint, I don't even notice the time go by. Hunger, sleep… doesn't affect me as much as you think, Akira-han. I don't really feel… anything when I paint. Sure I'm hungry now, but I think that's because I only ate yesterday, only because I remembered too, not because I wanted too."

Benitora looked at the ceiling, getting a glassy look to his narrow eyes and shifted his back so he sat a little further up the couch, resting his back against the arm rest.

"I… just loose myself… when I paint…"

"Well if you keep loosing yourself like this," his voice took on a dangerous edge, making 'Tora's head snap back to look at him, "and you'll start _loosing_ a lot of precious things to you. And I'm not just talking about your health 'Tora-san. People are worried about you. Mahiro-san has been driving herself crazy with—"

"Hey, I told Mahiro-han I might be gone for a while to paint, she said she understood! She knows what I get like." He snapped.

"It's not just that," Akira edged closer, "you don't call, you don't answer your phone and then everyone starts getting worried sick over you. It's selfish."

"Sel_… Selfish?_" He snarled and raised his knees. "This is my job, Akira-han. Like it or not, I do this for a living!"

Akira edged in between Benitora's raised knees, who in turn raised the cup defensively to his face as the blonde man invaded his personal space. He pushed his head down towards 'Tora's, snarl set, yet still trying to look concerned.

Being this close to the man, he could see the skin on his face had become pale and gaunt. Dark circles framed his eyes; his hair lost its lustrous red sheen and became messy and limp. Akira could see the few freckles that dotted around the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, speckles of paint both in his hair and on the skin of his face in messy combinations of purple and brown and white.

"Does your job entail that you can't take a break?" He snarled defiantly down in his face. "Can't you call Mahiro-san once in a while, or let Sasuke-san know you're alright? They worry about you… so much."

"I…" Benitora stopped and frowned, breaking eye contact. He let his arms rest at his side, the cup resting against the edge of the couch, threatening to fall.

He looked at a loss for words, guiltily shifting his narrow eyes back and fourth, biting his lower lip. When he finally stared back, Akira still bent over him, still looking concerned, he spoke.

"Akira-han… what's this about?"

Akira stared back into his bloodshot eyes, then looked away. What he was about to do, he was not proud of, but he only had barely a minute left and it was now or never. He chose his next words carefully, thinking about what exactly he was here for and why he was doing this. His confidence grew, he knew it would work.

_It had to work._

"Because I…" He moved in closer, so close he could almost count each little freckle on the man's face, whispering, "I worry about you, too."

Before Benitora caught the unaccustomed gleam in Akira's eyes, it was too late and he was already pinned under his hips with the blonde man's mouth, rather roughly, pressed against his own.

Out of utter shock he opened his mouth, eyes wide and they went even wider as the probing of a defiant tongue travelled through his lips and explored the inside of his mouth. A hand curled around his wrist resting against the side of the couch.

Somewhere, in his sleep depraved, food starved, coffee enhanced brain, a warning signal went off. Every inch of his skin crawled in shock; his heart played a fierce punching beat against his ribs.

And yet for a second, his eyes slid shut, the cup he was holding fell and smashed on the floor, splattering coffee everywhere.

Confused, tired and hungry, his brain only registered warm skin, the smell of something sweet, the wet, erotic feeling of an intrusive tongue and the tingling sensation spurred by the feeling of the hips pressed firmly against his own.

And for a few blissful seconds, there was only feeling.

Until he heard the smallest hint of a groan, and the man above him drove the kiss deeper into his mouth, slanting his lips, a free hand coming up to run through the hair on the back of his head. It was then that Benitora realised exactly where he was, and who was ontop of him, playing with his mouth, tugging on his short red hair.

He pulled sharply away, the hand previously hanging over the edge of the couch pushing back on Akira's shoulders, only realising how truly weak he felt from lack of food.

Gasping for air, eyes wide, fearful, mouth swollen and red and still agape from its previous activity, he stared, stuttering out questions.

"Aki-Akira-han…? You… I n-never…"

But the lowered, suggestive look on the blonde man's face said he wasn't quite listening and he only muttered one hoarse word before moving closer, too close.

"_Please_."

And so the kiss continued once again when he pulled the back of Benitora's head closer, silencing any protests with mouth and tongue.

Benitora thought there was something positively sinful about the slick way Akira moved against his tongue, shuddering as he passed over a sensitive area at the roof of his mouth.

Only confusion remained at the edge of his brain, undecided whether or not he wanted to be here, kissing another man when he was clearly straight. There was something about it, something warm and inviting and dear God something strangely erotic about it too. Though he never took Akira to be the dominating type. Then again he never thought he would be in this situation _with_ Akira before, not only that, but actually kind of enjoying it too…

But then another thought bubbled it's way to the surface, along with the guilt of him forgetting in his malnourished state. _Mahiro…_

He pushed up against Akira's shoulders, his trapped hand wringing for freedom, his head working to get away from the intrusive tongue. But it only heightened the feeling of the man above him, who kissed him just as roughly back and he could make no sounds at all to show he couldn't take what was being offered to him.

A slight "Hnng…." Was all that he could manage.

Slowly, he lost himself to it. For in his confused, terrified, deprived state, nothing else made sense but the feeling of it, the warmth… He felt his eyes roll back, his eyelids fluttered as the hips against his shifted.

That was until Akira adjusted his mouth and he felt his tongue slide to the back, pushing something small with it. It slid and fell down, and Benitora swallowed it before he had a chance to stop himself.

_A drug…_

Narrow eyes shot open, along with an electric jolt of fear coursing up his spine. He pulled viciously away, his long, thin fingers curling in the collar of Akira's shirt, pulling him up and off his mouth.

_A goddamn drug!_

Seething, after his throat had worked to try to force the pill back up and failed, the second Akira's lips had left his own, he uttered dangerously two simple, perfectly understandable words.

_All this, just to drug me!_

"_Get out._"

He felt the anger bubble up under his chest, his mind suddenly crystal clear, focused, ready, eyes narrowed into slits and Akira stared back, and for the love of God he _smirked_.

And then, he snickered.

"Why not enjoy your last moment's consciousness? Think I didn't hear you?"

The playful, taunting edge to the man's voice made the anger rise in him at a feverish pace. But then, he thought for a second…

_Last moment's consciousness…?_

_The drug…?_

"What did you do to me?" He snarled and attempted to push the other man off him, but their current positions held him firmly to the couch, the grip on his wrist becoming tighter.

He pushed his hips up, kicked out fiercely with his legs, but Akira rode each movement with an almost practiced ease, and his smirk, if anything, started to grow.

"Now now Benitora-san. You are not a five year old." He taunted, surprise gracing his features for a second when the frantic movements underneath him almost sent him careening off the couch. Luckily, 'Tora didn't notice.

Instead he snarled, struggling harder as Akira's free hand wrapped around his neck, holding him down against the armrest.

"You were never good enough, you know. Not for her, the only reason you have Mahiro is because she was the second best thing!" He paused, as the red haired man's struggling reached a feverish pace. "Even that canvas there. I know it's her, 'Tora, you can't get past me."

"Get past _this_!" Benitora snarled, and in a fear induced rage he broke free of Akira's grasp, locking his fingers in the youth's collar and jerking him down to meet him as he leapt up in a vicious head butt.

There was a slam as their skulls met at a ferocious speed, leaving Akira dazed, seeing spots as he was thrown off the couch and onto the floor, narrowly missing the shattered cup.

He lay there for, well, he didn't really know how long. But once the dizziness had passed, he was greeted by a spluttering, coughing sound. He rose gingerly to his feet, stumbling slightly as the white covering wrinkled beneath his shoes.

"Ah yes," he said, "the effects."

He stared down at Benitora, who was hanging on to the edge of the couch seemingly for dear life. Clutching his ribs, his eyes were clenched shut, coughing, face becoming even paler and a slight sheen of sweat started to break on his forehead. A drop of blood rolled down his temple where the head butt had created a small, bruised cut.

Akira shook his head, raising a hand to his chin. "Hmph. I should have made the dosage a little stronger. No matter, you should be feeling- ah yes, of course." He paused to watch as Benitora gasped and wrapped his arms around his stomach. His eyes went wide, his face became so pale it was almost white and he struggled for air. "Nausea…"

Strangely, he had to admire the Tiger's strength. Even as he could feel the sensation of his insides becoming engulfed in flames, he still found it in him to glare defiantly up at Akira, who simply… _smiled._

"But don't worry. Once the sickness passes you can have a nice…" He strode over and tilted his chin up, so he could stare back into that venomous glare, "long…" stooping, he planted a kiss between the quivering man's eyes, "_rest_."

With that, he turned on his heels and walked away, stopping to gaze back at the unfinished painting, frowning when he realised it would _never_ be finished and strode into the hallway.

The sharp stab of pain built up in his forehead where his own skull connected with Benitora's, he raised a hand, feeling the side starting to swell. Taking his hand away, he found blood on his palm. He huffed disgustedly, having half a mind to back and kill the man where he kneeled, but, he supposed, he was probably in enough pain already.

Smiling slightly, he turned the handle of the front door and walked outside, feeling the gentle beginnings of rain starting to fall and slammed the door shut.

Walking down the mismatched pathway, he raised a hand briefly to his chin and thought about his next target.

_The bartender…_

Setting his watch once more, he walked passed the lengthy grass and pulled his hood up over his head, as the rain gradually got worse.

And poor Benitora, would you pity a man, confused, hungry, tired, drained, and possibly dying?

Feeling the rushing in his stomach as it boiled and writhed, he rose as quickly to his feet as he could and rushed upstairs to the bathroom, his shoulders hitting into the walls, he painfully banged his knee off the banisters coming up the stairs.

Throwing up had never been a great love of his, and now as he rested against the cistern of the toilet, there was a small hope of what Akira just shoved down his throat had come back up.

He shivered as the thoughts rushed back, sickening him and he felt his stomach twist again. Bent double, convulsing, shaking, he coughed, retched, but nothing made it's way up.

His body burned, the muscles in his abdomen clenched tight and a cold sweat broke on his forehead.

Resting his head on his hands, Benitora heaved, gulping for air and thought for a few moments, thinking about what just happened.

How could this have happened? He asked himself.

Technically, did this make him gay, or was he just confused? After all, it did feel kind of…

He blanched and threw up again, refusing to believe what he just mentally admitted to himself. After all, the blonde man just showed up uninvited, taunted him, kissed him, and then drugged him. That was enough reason or Benitora to feel hatred towards anyone.

He spat and gingerly rose from the bathroom floor, raising a hand to wipe away any tears that may have escaped. His head swam, the room spun and he stumbled, holding onto the side of the shower for support. Slowly he made his way to his bedroom where the sweet thoughts of sleep resided.

Slumping down face first into his soft mattress, he lay there, barely with enough energy to turn himself over onto his back. A fever burned away at his forehead, the paintbrush downstairs would start to go hard if he left it out but honestly, for once he couldn't have cared less.

Instead he pushed himself over, coughing when he felt a vice like grip on his lungs and fell uneasily into sleep, his last remaining thoughts of lips and the smell of blonde hair and Akira's aftershave.

Then one of how he had just cheated on Mahiro.

**Notes:** Edited yaaaaaaaaaaaay!!! I'm so glad I wrote this chapter out again, I re-read the first one and decided it sucked, so I edited. WOO. Read and review please, helpful criticism also greatly appreciated.


	2. The Bartender

**Summary:** Akira tries to take his next victim, Yukimura with his capsules but gets a phone call from Yuya. It turns out she and Mahiro have found Benitora and Akira is furious…

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Samurai Deeper Kyo. Duh, what the hell do you people want from me?

**The Bartender**

"My, what an awful day!" Yuya exclaims as she steps onto the bus and shakes the drops of rain from her black umbrella. Her nurse's uniform was soaked and her bare legs shivered in the cold.

"Mmm, I know. Summer's just ended it seems." Mahiro followed and paid her fare, her heavily pencilled eyelashes blinking the water from her eyes. Her clothes were also soaking wet, her long leather jacket dripping and her jeans clinging to her lean slender legs.

They sat down in the front seats of the near-empty bus, Yuya pulling the nurses cap away from her fair hair with a sigh.

"I can't wait for this term to end, then I can start my real job and not all this pointless training."

Mahiro giggled slightly. She too went to the same college as Yuya, but she studied Medical Psychology and not nursing. Her course took longer and was harder as they had to learn all the basics of nursing and medical science as well as psychology.

"Be lucky you don't have to carry as many books as me." She took her heavy bag from her shoulders and laid it on her lap, shaking her sodden wavy hair.

"You want to come back to my place for coffee or back to your own place?" Yuya offered.

"Coffee would be nice." Mahiro smiled. She lived near one of the worst parts of the suburbs, not to far away from Benitora and Yukimura. Her house had been broken into many times but she could defend herself pretty well. Yuya however lived in a house close to town with Kyo whom she rented a room from. Well at least that was what he liked to think. Most of the time she never paid her rent.

A drunken man near the end of the bus stared at Mahiro with an evil glint, but they ignored him. They talked for most of the journey home, chatting and giggling about recent events. Yukimura had almost gotten fired from his part time job again for harassing one of the waitresses and Bontenmaru singed off his eyebrows from the grill. They had not seen Benitora in five days and were growing worried again. Sasuke was getting increasingly depressed because his girlfriend had dumped him and Kyo was constantly in trouble with the law. Akira was starting his first year of college studying Forensic Science and so far he was thoroughly enjoying it. They vaguely thought Okuni was pregnant after her refusal to go drinking and her sudden longing for chocolate and red meat.

Yuya reached into her handbag and took out her vibrating phone. She flipped it open and put the receiving end to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Listen, Dogface," Kyo's low voice growled at her through the phone, "I need you to pick up some more vodka on your way back."

"Ugh, I'm already on the bus home!"

"Well then get off a stop early."

"It's pouring out!"

"Good, you need a wash. Now do as I say." He spat and hung up the phone. Yuya snarled and jabbed her hone back into her handbag. Where did he get the nerve to speak to her like that?

"Something wrong?"

"Ah, just Kyo being an ass." They stood up and waited for the bus to stop at an overcrowded street. Yuya opened up her umbrella and Mahiro pulled up her hood as they stepped out in the cold rain. For nearly ten minutes they queued just to get a litre bottle of Smirnoff for Kyo and made their way back down the street, still chatting away.

Many hasty eyes followed them down the street as they walked; the perverted glares boring into them as they walked passed the rundown bars and off-licences. Finally they turned the corner of the road where Yuya lived and Mahiro released a slight sigh. Barely three months ago she had been pulled into a back alley and molested by a group of men while making her way home from work that night. Had Yukimura, Benitora and Bontenmaru not been just walking out of the bar at that moment and stepped in to beat the living daylights out of everything they saw she might not have survived. This particular incident left her terrified of going anywhere on her own. Who could blame her?

Mahiro released her nervous grip on Yuya's arm with a sigh and relaxed. Yuya ignored it, knowing what pain she has been through and let her regain her pride for a moment. Together they walked up the bare garden of a small, but select house with Kyo's large black and red motorcycle wrapped in clear tarpaulin in the driveway. He had been banned from driving it for three months for speeding, but that still did not stop him. She rapped her free hand on the small wooden door of the house for a second and waited.

Big baleful eyes greeted them as the average sized, but relatively built man answered the door with the polite smile he always seemed to have. The left side of his forehead was slightly blue and a plaster covered the wound.

"Yuya-san!" Akira exclaimed. "And Mahiro, always a pleasure. Come in quick out of the rain!" He hurried inside to let them in and passed them towels to dry of. He took their jackets and hung them over the warm radiator. Yuya smiled at him, grateful to have a nice welcome coming home from the pouring rain.

Yuya walked into the dimly lit living room and was pulled onto the brown leather sofa… or Kyo's lap rather as his strong hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, one cheeky hand sliding out from behind to grab her unattended, yet sodden breast. Akira stared for a second and his eyebrow twitched. He turned away, disgusted.

"You're a little wet, dogface." He growled in her ear. The rough material of his baggy black jeans rasped off her bare legs and her riddiculously short nurse's uniform rode upward. She squeaked and smacked him furiously away. She thrust the bottle of vodka at him with a contemptuous glare.

"Here's your alcohol." She spat and walked into the kitchen to make Mahiro some coffee. Kyo grinned widely and set his feet up on the coffee table, his big boots clinking off the carved wood as he held a book infront of his face and drank deeply from his bottle of Bulmers, laying the Smirnoff beside the table for later on.

"Here." Akira was behind her, holding up a thick woollen blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders from behind and ran his hands up and down her arms in a warm embrace. She moulded against him as he warmed her shivering frame and sighed. He breathed in her warm smell and closed his eyes; the smell of light perfume and that wonderful scent that was pure Yuya filled his head.

"Thanks." She muttered. "You want some coffee?"

Akira nodded and sat down beside Mahiro, whom he had also given a blanket to.

"Kyo?" She shouted to him in the sitting room. "Want some coffee?"

"I can hear you talk you idiot, you don't have to shout. And no." Came the snappy reply. She tutted and rolled her eyes, turning the kettle on with the blanket draped around her shoulders like a woolly cloak.

She passed the mugs of coffee around and sat down, her tired feet tingling in relief as they rested. She sipped the warm liquid and closed her eyes, allowing the steam to run up her nose and face. Ah, caffeine.

Mahiro stared at Akira, who had a dazed, dreamy look in his large eyes. Those irises bore into Yuya with a certain level of _hunger, need_. She shifted away from him slightly, that look all too familiar. Her shifting seemed to awaken him and he shook his head slightly, picking up his mug of coffee and drinking.

"How did you cut your head, Akira-san?" Yuya asked.

As if with reflex his hand jumped to the bruise over his left temple and covered it. "This? Oh, you know, I fell getting out of the shower a few days ago." He lied.

Kyo sniggered from the living room.

"Want me to look at it for you?" Yuya's hand reached out to touch his wound but he pulled away with a smile.

"No, it's okay… really Yuya-san."

Mahiro narrowed her eyes suspiciously but continued sipping her coffee.

"Busy day?" He rested his head on his hand and ran his fingers through his long, fair hair. It ruffled around his face in the sort of boyish grace that so made him attractive in an innocent way, much like Yuya.

"Nah, just miserable." Mahiro answered and sipped her coffee, draping the blanket further around her body. The heating was on but she was still very cold. Yuya murmured in agreement.

"Hey, Akira-san." Yuya rounded him on. He perked up, all intent on listening to her. "You talk to Bontenmaru a lot right? Is Okuni pregnant? They did only get married a few months ago, but still…"

"Yuya!" Mahiro exclaimed. Akira snickered.

"What? It's a general question. Come on, you can tell me." She moved closer in the table. Akira watched as her lips parted slightly and her big green eyes glinted on the information he held. His smile grew slightly. Mahiro watched with one raised eyebrow.

"I have no idea. Honestly." He shrugged and rested his elbow back on the table.

"Come on, you can tell us, we won't say anything." She moved in closer again.

Mahiro decided to change the subject before she saw that sickening look of _need_ run through Akira's face for much longer.

"Shouldn't you be worried about other things?" She asked.

"Like what?"

"Like… um…"

Yuya narrowed her eyes suspiciously and a cheeky smile played on her lips. "You're worried about Benitora aren't you, Mahiro-san?"

Akira twitched slightly and suppressed a devilish grin. He continued to look like he was listening but still his mind ran through how the "Tiger" was more than likely feeling at this moment. _It **has** been three days._ Really the dose should have been stronger, but Benitora _struggled_ so much…

Mahiro became flustered and shook her head, her wavy hair shaking slightly and falling about her face. "No, no… well of course I am, but not like _that_… eh…" Yuya started laughing.

"Admit it, you're worried!"

Mahiro hung her head. "Well, you remember what happened last time." She whispered slightly. "I was so worried when I found out he had to go to the hospital."

Akira held the snigger back behind his teeth. _Looks like it's about that time for him to go again, Mahiro-san._

He looked at the clock on the wall and jumped up, realising he was nearly late. "I have to go." He flustered and grabbed his jacket, pulling the hood up over his head.

"I'll see you later, Yuya-san. Take care." He nodded at them and smiled. "And don't worry, Mahiro-san, I'm sure Benitora is fine."

_Yeah… fine_. He thought with a mental laugh. _Infact he's probably dead by now…_

He nodded to Kyo and turned the handle on the front door, closing it gently behind him and walking out into the worsening rain. _Who's next? Ah yes, the bartender…_

Yuya took Mahiro's hand across the table and clenched it. "If it's really bothering you, why don't we go and see him? He only lives a few minutes away."

"No, no you're still soaking wet and I have to get home and…"

"Mahiro." She laughed and clenched her hand again. "Relax! I'm worried too. I worry all the time about everyone. Now finish your coffee and we'll head out when you dry off a bit, okay?"

Mahiro smiled. "Okay, _mother_."

**-(Break)-**

A deep sigh escaped Akira's lips when he walked into the fancy bar, his coat dripping wet and shivering slightly. The wooden floor clinked under his heels and the dim lighting gave him a drunken feeling. With what would be a sort of soft gold light as the chandelier glowed overhead, it made him feel slightly dizzy. He approached the bar and sat down on a stool infront of the bartender, whom had his back turned.

Long black hair danced around his shoulders and he juggled two bottles of Archers Peach Schnapps with expert grace with his long, muscular arms. He wore a black shirt that complimented his well-toned body and black working pants. His tongue stuck out of his mouth in deep concentration and he turned, spinning and flipping the bottles between his fingers. This man, blessed with a certain beauty and grace, with dark seductive eyes and a smile that warmed the very air around him was an excellent barman and a shameless flirt. His well spoken, optimistic nature and tone was both appeasing and refreshing to be around. At the ripe age of 35, he hoped to raise enough money to open his own cocktail bar and Akira thought the title of entrepreneur suited him perfectly.

"Akira-san!" Sanada Yukimura stumbled slightly. One of the bottles dropped but he caught it just before it smashed and put them back behind the bar. "I didn't even see you come in. How are you?"

"Fine, Yukimura-san fine. I see you're rather eh…" He looked around the empty bar. "_Busy_…"

A smile spread across his handsome face. "It's been like this for a while. Must be the weather."

They made small talk for a few minutes about recent events and Akira swirled the little capsule around his mouth, getting ready…

"… And I'm still worried about Sasuke. I mean he really, really liked that girl. I told him; 'You're only 15, there will be others.' But he's still very upset. He's stopped listening in class too and his teachers are complaining that's his work is slipping. I don't know what to do with him." Yukimura finished.

Akira placed and hand on his chin. "You're better off letting him get over it himself. If you try to smother him he'll just push himself away from you."

Yukimura hung his head and sighed. "I… I guess you're right…" He stopped to pull a pint of Millers for and old man at the bar and took his money. Akira waited until the old man left the bar to ask Yukimura the question he came here for, but Yukimura spoke first.

"Could you tell Yuya to go see Bontenmaru when she gets a chance. Turns out he burned his arm off the grill in work and didn't treat it." He rolled his eyes. "Typical. Anyway, he thinks it might be getting infected and he doesn't feel like forking out for a doctor, so pass the message on won't you please?"

Akira nodded and held the capsule under his tongue. He took out his phone and looked at the time. Five minutes…

"When is your break, Yukimura-san? I need to talk to you… privately."

Yukimura looked at his watch. He shrugged and looked around the bar. "I need a smoke anyway. Meet me in the alleyway near the back in a few seconds."

Akira nodded and dropped off the stool, heading for the door while Yukimura went behind the bar and grabbed a packet of cigarettes. He pulled his hood up and stepped out into the rain. The blood rushed around his body at terrific speeds but he stayed calm, almost bored. Benitora would act violent, but Yukimura would be more polite than anything else, he was sure of it. Not only that, but he liked winding Benitora up. It was a sort of masochism he had, really.

He turned the corner to see Yukimura light up a smoke under the dark green awning in the littered alleyway. His tight leather jacket hung open in a chic sort of fashion and he flicked his long hair way from his eyes. Taking a puff of smoke with a sigh, he blew the smoke out, looking haughty and unruffled, gesturing for Akira to come under the awning.

Yukimura's expression was worried. He placed a gentle hand on Akira's arm, looking contently into his eyes. "Is something wrong, Akira-san? What is it you need to talk about?"

Faking, Akira used an expression of anxiety, closing his eyes, hanging his head and shifting slightly. He was glad that Yukimura's politeness was much easier to work with than Benitora's vicious rage.

"I… just don't know who else to turn to…"

Almost fatherly, Yukimura moved in closer and placed his hand gently on his shoulder. "What is it?"

Akira released a sigh and shook his head. "I think… I think I'm in love, Yukimura-san." A smile ran over his face, his confidence growing tenthfold when he heard Yukimura laugh slightly.

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" He giggled and flicked the ash from his cigarette.

With an injured look, he raised his head and stood stronger, facing him. "No! It's _who_ I'm in love with. I… I don't understand it!"

Yukimura placed both hands on Akira's shoulders. He looked up into those dark eyes, holding the little capsule between his teeth. Yukimura's eyebrows furrowed, his warm expression easily captivating to the eye.

"… Who is it that you are in love with?"

He took a deep breath and looked deeply into those big, dark eyes. His eyelids grew heavy and he made his body shiver slightly. "I… I think I… I'm in love with-"

Akira jumped as his phone rang loudly and vibrated against his leg, making the right side of his jeans shake.

"Dammit!" He spat and hastily took out his phone. Yukimura lowered his arms, laughing slightly. The tense mood lifted so suddenly it made him feel dizzy so he took another puff of his smoke to calm his nerves.

"Hello?" Akira walked two feet away. He was positively fuming that he forgot to turn his phone off. How could he be so foolish as not to notice? His face was red, his arms shook with contempt, but he quickly calmed as he heard Yuya's voice on the other side of the phone.

"Akira-san!" He heard her cry.

"Please, please…!" He heard Mahiro sob in the background and what sounded like running water and a shower.

"I need your help!" Yuya exclaimed. She sounded panicked. "Something's wrong with Benitora. Akira… I think he's…"

"Calm down." Akira ordered her, keeping his voice as calm as possible and making sure Yukimura couldn't see while he smirked widely. "What's wrong with him?"

Yuya started sobbing, obviously scared. "I don't know… h-he's burning up and he won't s-stop shivering and… and I d-don't know h-how to help him and…"

_**WHAT?**_

"Yuya, listen to me. Have you called an ambulance?" Akira secretly hoped she didn't. His anger rose to the point where the grip on his phone was so tight he started hurting his ear on the receiving end. The first mistake was making the dose weak, and he vowed not to make that same mistake again.

"Y-yes…" She sobbed. "But they didn't say when th-they would get here and…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can!" He hung up his phone and turned to Yukimura with a frown.

"Something more important has come to my attention. I'm afraid we will have to continue this later."

With great haste, Akira pulled up his hood and made his way back into the rain.

"Wait!" Yukimura called after him. "What's wrong?"

"No time to explain!" He called back and sped off through the storm, following the route back to the place he had hoped he never had to go again until the tiger's life was over. To Benitora's house.

Jumping slightly, his watch vibrated, alarming him that time was up. He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and spat out the capsule into it, throwing it down into the overflowing shore.


	3. How to Draw A Breath

**Summary:** Yuya and Mahiro find Benitora. They discover the effects of Akira's little capsules.

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill, I don't own any of the characters or personas. But the plot of this story is original and MINE.

Thanks for reviewing, Zachura. Being the ONLY reviewer infact…. (Sad face)

**How to draw a breath**

With a disgusted sigh, Yuya kicked the empty beer can outside the overgrown garden. The old orange liquid poured out onto her already soaking wet shoes and she tutted, shaking her sodden leg. The rain beat against her umbrella as she followed Mahiro over the mismatched slabs to the rotting wooden door. There was going to be some very serious words with a certain "artist" about the state of the garden…

Mahiro stopped and pulled her hood down, rapping her knuckles off the door lightly. The paint flaked slightly, they waited for a few seconds, but there was no reply. Mahiro shot a worried look at Yuya, who merely shrugged. Once again she tapped on the door harder this time and they waited. Yuya rocked back on the balls of her feet, growing impatient… and at the same time a little worried. There was a certain sense of foreboding in the air.

No reply.

No angry shout, no noise of Benitora tripping over the same box as he passed the living room, no steady beat of Basement Jaxx blaring out from his 250 watt speakers, no tired glare to greet them at the door. Nothing.

"… But he isn't out." Mahiro knocked on the door again.

"What makes you say that?" Yuya cocked an eyebrow.

"He would have called." She sighed and reached into her purse. She drew out a key and inserted it into the recess in the door. After twiddling it for a few seconds there was a click as it unlocked.

Yuya raised a second eyebrow. "Where did you get _his key_?"

She swung the door open with a loud creak and shook the flecks of paint from her fingers. "Let's… not get into that right now."

They stepped into the darkened hallway and closed the door. It rattled on its hinges, giving her the distinct impression that it was about to fall so she shut it quickly. The strong smell of paint and linseed oil scratched at her nose, she followed Mahiro into the living room, taking a moment to marvel at the painting over the fireplace. Benitora's art sometimes didn't appeal to her particular taste but now and then he would make something that dazzled her beyond belief.

Once again there was no sign of him, Yuya making a mental note to shout at Tora for leaving his house in this state. Mahiro ran around into the kitchen, but quickly emerged, shaking her head.

"Maybe he's asleep?" She left the room, soon after Yuya could hear her quiet footfalls on the stairs and the creaking of the landing as she reached the top. Meanwhile, Yuya made her way into the second hallway. She came to a door covered in an intricate red design. This could only be his drawing room, and she let her curiosity get the better of her.

She reached out her hand and twisted the stained handle. _Locked! Dammit_.

Overhead she heard a deafening smash and Mahiro's petrified screech that made her skin jump in shock.

"YUYA! COME QUICK!"

Quickly she darted from the hallway, through the living room and up the stairs. God only knows what she found Tora doing. She cringed, putting the possibilities out of her head for a second. Her foot found the landing, the creaking stairs dipped under her footfalls and her hand closed around the rough banister. A quick glance around the landing told her that they were in the bedroom and she wrenched the door open.

"… What…?"

Benitora's room, to say the least, was messy and dirty beyond belief. His clothes were strewn about the floor and his closet door hung open, it's contents spilled out onto the old dusty rug. The floor looked as though it had been many a time since it has been hovered and had the curtains on the windows not been shut she probably wouldn't have been able to see outside anyway the dirt was that thick. The lamp lay smashed next the bedside table. The blankets lay discarded, as thought not even used.

But Yuya wasn't looking at the state of the floor or the lamp. Her gaze was fixed on the heap lying in the bed sheets. Deathly pale, apart from the reddened forehead and sweaty fevered brow, Benitora lay with one hand across his slowly heaving chest. His rasping breath like fingernails on a chalkboard went so slow she could have sworn he stopped a few times. Despite his breathing, he didn't move. His fingers gave an occasional twitch but apart from that he stayed completely motionless. By his clothes she could tell he had collapsed, still in his paint covered white shirt – buttoned wrong – paint covered jeans so baggy the could have wrapped twice around his legs and his old Lacostè runners.

"He's unconscious." Mahiro's voice cracked. She sat on the side of the bed, a little confused and obviously uncomfortable. That was nothing compared to how Yuya was feeling.

Blank. Her mind went completely blank. She exchanged a worried expression with Mahiro. Her lower lip quivered and she shifted uncomfortably nearer to him.

_Okay… okay. So he's sick… eh… right, check for temperature…_

Shakily she made her way to the bed and knelt down beside him. With a careful hand she lay her palm over his sweating brow, brushing his matted hair out of the way first. She quickly drew her hand away and clutched it.

"He… he's _burning!_" She gasped. _What have you done to yourself, 'Tora?_

Mahiro looked down at him and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Beni… _tora?_" With what must have been all his physical strength he summoned the energy to half open one beady eye and stare up at her. His pupils were dilated and his eyes very bloodshot. A bead of sweat trickled down from his forehead and into the corner of his eye. He clenched it shut in agony and his breathing grew slightly, but not by much. Mahiro clenched his arm gently, her lower lip quivering to the point where she had to clench her eyes shut. She wrapped her arms around him and brought the back of his head to her lap, as a mother would a sleeping child.

"We… we have to get his fever down!" Yuya stood up quickly. She knew what to do now… sort of. "Stay with him, I'll be right back." Darting out the door she searched frantically for the bathroom. She had been doing her nurses training for what would be two years now. Sure she had helped some people with little things and she knew how to read symptoms and check to make sure everything was alright. But this… was so different now. There could be any number of things wrong with him. His temperature was through the roof, his skin was gaunt and he didn't even have the energy to open his eyes. Not only that, but she never imagined having to do this with one of her friends. What if something happened on her watch… what if?

_Don't think like that!_

She burst through the door of the bathroom and turned on the cold tap, picking up a hand towel off the rack. Turning the dial she quickly soaked the towel and wrung it out only slightly, coughing to try and choke back her terrified tears.

_What if he dies? Who's fault will it be?_

Mahiro had no idea of what to do. Yuya was the one who did the nurses training, and she was only in her second year of Medical Psychology. How **would** she know what to do? The only thing she could think of was holding him around the shoulders tightly. His head lolled to one side, his rasping breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She could feel the inertia as his lungs struggled to keep the air in, stop and then release it. _He's dying_, her mind screamed at her, _he's going to die!_ His skin felt too hot against her bare arms but her mind refused to yield and let him go.

Yuya rushed out of the bathroom with the soaked towel, folding it as her feet found the floor in hurried pace. Once again she made her way into the bedroom and gently laid the folded towel over Benitora's scorching hot forehead. She noticed how fast the water evaporated as some of it rolled down his cheeks and past his nose. If anything it made her even more worried. If his temperature kept up like that, surely his body will fail.

Yuya shook her head and felt the heat from the once cool towel. The heat was rising quickly, meaning she failed to reduce his fever. "It's n-no use!" She cried and stood up, wringing her troubled hands. _Think, Yuya THINK!_

"What do you mean?" Mahiro choked. "You're the one who does the training, you should know! W-what if he… what if…"

"What?" Yuya shouted incredulously at her. She wasn't a nurse, or a doctor. How could she possibly know how to handle a situation like this? How could she know how to help? Who did know?

_Who could help?_

…

_This man needs a hospital!_ Quickly she whipped out her phone and dialled emergency services.

"Emergency services, do you need ambulance, fire brigade or police?" A monotonous voice answered.

Feeling thoroughly idiotic for not having thought of calling an ambulance in the first place, she answered back "Ambulance."

The messenger beeped twice and she was put through to the hospital. "What seems to be the problem?" Yet another monotonous voice called through the receiving end.

"I need an ambulance. I found my friend in his house. His fever is through the roof, he's unconscious but we can't wake him." She looked over. Mahiro started sobbing. She could see Benitora starting to shiver badly, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists. She too found herself hard to control her tears. "H-he won't stop shivering a-and…"

The woman's voice on the end suddenly became soft and calming. "Okay, now calm down miss. I'll have to ask you some questions, you need to stay calm." She urged. Yuya nodded.

"Where are you now?"

She told her the address, just barely holding back the tears when she saw Benitora's body shiver so badly it was as though he were in a freezer.

"Okay we are sending the ambulance out to you now. They will be there as soon as possible. For now, can you tell me how old your friend is?"

"H-he's twenty five." _And if his temperature keeps rising he may not make it to twenty-six._

"You say he has a bad fever? Try and get him under some water, like a shower until the ambulance arrives. And please keep calm miss, should anything else arise, please call us immediately."

_Anything else? Like death, you mean?_

"O-okay… and p-please hurry!" She turned to Mahiro; quickly wiping the tear that had escaped it's way out of the corner of her eye. "We have to get him under the shower to get his temperature down."

Unable to control her emotion, Mahiro continued to choke out her sobs as she held Benitora under the arms, Yuya rushing forward to hold him under the knees. With great difficulty they lifted the tall redhead up off the bed. The sheets stuck to his back but Mahiro kicked them away. Half dragging, half lifting they carried his shivering form out the bedroom and down the landing and into the bathroom, neither of them barely had the strength to carry half of him, despite how slim he may be. He made no gesture, no movement to even show that he noticed, just simply shiver as his limbs attempted to curl up into a ball.

Gently as possible they lowered him into the round basin of the bath and Mahiro reached up to take the shower nozzle away from the wall, turning the dial down to cold. Meanwhile Yuya paced around the bathroom in an agitated fashion. She was biting down hard on her nails, wondering what possibly to do next. Should she call someone? She really wanted to call someone; she couldn't take this feeling of helplessness, as if she was useless any longer. But who?

She thought of Kyo, but his reaction was easily predicted. _"You sure he just didn't drink a bottle of Tabasco sauce?"_ He would say. _"You know he likes his food spicy."_ Then again, he was the most reliable person she knew. The first sign of trouble and he would hop on his motorbike and be here within three minutes. _And get arrested again_, she thought.

Mahiro switched on the shower and it hummed into life, spluttering water from the detachable nozzle. She kneeled down infront of the bath, her arm hanging over the edge to clutch the side of Benitora's shirt. Slowly she shook the water over his legs and torso, her hands shaking badly. She could have sworn his skin gave a slight hiss as the cold water sprayed his boiling skin. His body jumped when he felt the icy cold water and he shivered, if possible, even worse than before. Yuya also kneeled beside the bath, taking the nozzle from Mahiro to run the water over his face and shoulders. His limbs twitched uselessly against the cold and he sucked his sharp breath in through his teeth.

Pain, he looks like he is in so much pain.

She fought hard to control her tears. Even with Mahiro beside her, wiping the water away from his face so he could breathe, she felt alone – helpless even.

Using her free hand she lay her palm down on his forehead to feel his temperature again. He was still burning hot. She took another towel from the rack, gave the shower to Mahiro and folded it, laying it over his forehead again. Her hand brushed against the folds of his shirt, causing it to gape open slightly. The usual black designs of his tattoos were visible, but something else caught her eye. A thin red line, no larger than a vein went through his skin but transparent, as if it were underneath his skin. Mahiro wet the towel over his forehead and grasped his arm to stop herself from bursting into tears. Yuya unbuttoned his shirt and slowly peeled the wet material away from his skin. The further it came away from his stomach, the more horrified she became. Finally she pulled it away from his torso and gasped in horror, standing back and clutching her heart.

"Oh… Oh m-my _God_!" She shrieked. Mahiro could only stare, wide eyed in shock at his chest.

Benitora had many tattoos, _but this_, this was no tattoo. Thin red lines, curving and interweaving like veins spread out all over his torso, up his shoulders and around his stomach.

_Blood poisoning!_

But she had never seen blood poisoning like this before, never heard of it acting this way either. The lines were moving through his veins yes, but if anything they moved _away_ from his heart.

She could see the very **outline** of his heart, the poison so vividly red she could see his aorta, the pulmonary arteries and cardiac muscle. His heartbeat – which was slow at best – could be seen through his very skin. She had never seen anything so terrifying in her life, it was as though someone had cracked open his chest and exposed it for all the world to see.

Mahiro left the shower down on his stomach, nozzle down so the water spilled out over his torso. With a hand over her mouth she struggled to keep her terrified sobs in.

_Akira_, the very first name that made sense to Yuya at that moment, _Akira will know what to do. He could help._

Without any second thought, Yuya took out her phone from her pocket once more and dialled Akira's number.

"W-who are you c-calling?" Mahiro managed to choke out between her sobs.

"Akira." She answered and listened to the steady beeping on the other end.

Benitora's eyes snapped open. Mahiro gasped as he tried desperately to use all his strength to raise his hand. She clutched his hand and raised it to her face, crying deeply. He shook violently as his fingers grasped her hand, his eyelids threatening to fall back but he couldn't let that happen. He opened his mouth to say something, but all he could manage was a whimper.

"You'll be all right!" She reassured him, clutching his shaking fingers desperately. "Oh please, please be all right!"

"Akira-san!" Yuya cried. Benitora shook again and his hand closed over Mahiro's wrist.

"Please, please…!" Mahiro sobbed.

Yuya started to panic, she could already feel her stomach turning and her heart clenching tight. "I need your help! Something's wrong with Benitora. Akira… I think he's-"

"Calm down." Akira's cool voice interrupted. Something about his tone reassured her. "What's wrong with him?"

She started sobbing - she honestly had no idea what was wrong with him. His symptoms were so complex she didn't know where to start. "I don't know… h-he's burning up and he won't s-stop shivering and… and I d-don't know h-how to help him and…"

"Yuya, listen to me." She jumped as he spoke. A little hiss of anger played over his soft well-spoken voice. "Have you called an ambulance?"

She looked at her watch. Ten minutes had passed already and still the ambulance was not here. "Y-yes…" She sobbed. "But they didn't say when th-they would get here and…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can!" He hung up his phone and Yuya put her phone back into her pocket. Still the tears flowed freely from her eyes, but it was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

_Akira will be here in a second_, she thought, _he'll help_. _It's going to be okay._

"N… n-not-t…" Benitora managed to say through his shuddering breaths. Yuya kneeled over the bath and looked down at him.

Eyes wide, as if fearful, he gazed up at Mahiro and shook her hand. "P-le…" He couldn't manage another word after that. The only sound that seemed to leave his mouth was a soft whimper of pain, the red lines continuing slowly down and across his shivering body.

**-(Break)-**

At near breakneck speed Akira bolted down the road in the rain. Truly, he didn't even want to see how Benitora was unless he was looking down at him from an open casket, but if he didn't go then Yuya would suspect something. With any luck he'd have time to snap the man's neck if Yuya and Mahiro had their backs turned. A little sneer escaped over his face with this thought and he kept running, just one road away.

He managed to make himself just go that bit faster down the deserted streets if he said Yuya's name in his head every time his foot hit the ground. A sort of mantra that he liked to play while he walked, or ran in this case.

Even the rain, the way it spilled from the sky reminded him of how her eyes filled with tears when she was upset, or so happy she just had to let the tears flow. Each drop caressing her cheek like liquid silk that slid down over her soft peaches and cream skin. Could there ever be any other as perfect as she was?

Skidding slightly, he rounded the corner and bolted up the street, kicking a can over into the gutter as he raced against the clock. The usually graceful man, now as much graced with a frown as one would suspect from a dictator, should anyone see him running past would be terrified with his furious expression. If only he had some sort of way to turn back the clock and keep this little error from ever happening.

Akira became even more furious when he saw the Ambulance near the top of the road shut it's doors as the engine roared into life. Slowly it drove away, then gathered speed and turned on its red and blue sirens to allow quick passage through traffic. He stopped running, sliding on the wet pavement slightly. No point in rushing now. Yuya will call and ask if he can come to the hospital. He will make his way there on the bus, maybe stop for coffee, really he had time. No point in rushing now.

**-(Break)- **

"Yes, it appears we don't yet know, but we should have the blood analysis back in two to three hours. For now you can wait if you like." The nurse said from her clipboard, not once looking at them.

"Will he… be okay?" Mahiro said quietly.

Finally looking up from the sheet with a sigh, the nurse set her tired gaze on Mahiro, her expression a mixture of fatigue and worry. "We won't be sure until we get his tests back."

Mahiro nodded and wrung her hands in her lap. The nurse put the clipboard back in the holster at the end of the bed and turned to leave.

"Thanks." Yuya muttered as she left the room. She turned to Mahiro and looked at her. She avoided her green gaze, still playing with her fingers and shaking. Yuya took her hand and clenched it slightly. She smiled.

"I've… never seen him look so weak."

Weak wasn't the word, Yuya thought. She laid her attention to Benitora. He lay in the hospital bed, tubes coming in and out of his body like a robot from a bad sci-fi movie. One tube went down his throat, the other end strapped to a respirator. In the ambulance he went into a fit and stopped breathing. The life support machine and heart rate monitor beeped slowly beside him, according to one of the monitors his temperature was still high but neither rising nor lowering. His chest gently rose and fell, his brow twitching slightly and eyes clenched shut. They were not able to tell if he was awake, hell they could barely tell if he was conscious but neither of them wanted to know.

They stayed in silence for a little while, no sounds other than the sucking noise from the respirator and the beeping of the life support machine. The tension in the room could have choked her, so Yuya decided to lighten the mood a little. He was in the hospital, Kyo was coming to pick her up, and the panic was over. She was filled with a deep shame at herself for acting the way she did, but Mahiro needed to cheer up.

"So… You never told me where you got his key from."

Mahiro slowly looked over at her, a little shocked but then graced her with a slight chuckle.

"Well…"

Meanwhile, Kyo strode down the quiet wards of the hospital. His big New Rock boots clinking off the polished marble floor and a serious "Don't mess with me" expression. Yuya had warned him about the motorbike so he decided to take a taxi. Truly he had no idea why he was here. Benitora was prone to ending up in the hospital for something. He had a chisel stuck through his left hand, fainted from paint fume inhalation, lack of food and water and other general things. The man was an idiot and very accident-prone.

_Probably just drank a bottle of Tabasco sauce_, he thought bitterly. _Damn his spicy food urges. _

"Excuse me sir. You can't go down there." One of the nurses called to him, but he ignored her. "Sir? Sir! You can't go down there!"

"I know where I'm going." He spat and continued walking. She shrank away, his tone frightening her a little.

Hospitals were never a great love of his. People strapped to machines, families crying, people bleeding and dying and screaming. The place was filled with so much death it was hard to keep track of it all. It was… a little scary. Not that Kyo would ever be scared of something so frivolous, never.

Mahiro had just finished telling Yuya the tale of how she had earned a key to Benitora's house when Kyo trounced into the ward. It happened on the night of her birthday a week and a half ago. Benitora had to go for a meeting to discuss his freelance based work and couldn't see her. But at half ten at night he showed up on her doorstep with a bottle of wine, a movie and a wide, cheeky smile. They watched possible the goriest vampire movie she had ever seen, but both of them _did_ get a little drunk so that softened the blow. One thing led to another, first they sat arm in arm, and then she lay across his lap, her legs stretched out over the couch. The movie ended and they talked, then he kissed her. Then she kissed him, kissing led to making out on the couch, which led to them kissing right up the stairs and into the bedroom. All in all the night ended well, even though he did rip her favourite blouse in his haste to remove it and she did bite the top of his collarbone so hard that it bruised badly, but both of them woke up arm in arm and happy, filled with memories of the night before.

Kyo was a little taken aback. He expected Benitora to be sitting up with a cast or a bandage of some sort, smiling awkwardly and wincing in pain. But not strapped to a respirator and not looking much like himself at all, more like some sort of monster with all those tubes. He had the strangest urge to ask where Benitora was, just to be certain. Now he understood why Yuya seemed so panicked. He stared in silence for a second and then sat down.

"What happened?"

Yuya explained to him. Their mood had been slightly uplifted with Mahiro's sordid little tale; Yuya blushing furiously was she gave the vivid details, a little glad that Benitora couldn't hear them. Now however, the mood returned back to the way it was. Cold, like the hospital is and quiet too. She felt the tears once again rushing to her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? She let herself down, let Mahiro and Benitora down. How long has she been training to be a nurse now? Two years? And she couldn't even take care of a fever problem! She even hesitated, no, **forgot **to call an ambulance. What if she was too late? Why did she let herself panic at the first sign of trouble? None of this was said, but she tried hard to restrain herself from shouting it.

Kyo once again was silent; his reddish-black spiky hair glinted in the dim lighting.

"Come on then." He sighed and rose from his chair. He cast what would deem to be a sympathetic look at Benitora, fearing for his friend's condition and opened the door.

"What? I don't wanna leave him here." She said.

"You've done all you can now. What else is there?" He waited at the doorframe for her. She cast a sad expression at Mahiro, who nodded and clenched her hand. Kyo frowned. He knew Mahiro and Benitora had been close friends, as well as lovers so she would be the one to suffer the most. That would be nothing compared to how he expected his father to react.

Yuya stood up, but didn't really want to leave. Once again, she looked at Benitora's almost alien figure in the bed and walked towards the door.

"Mahiro… Make sure his father knows." Kyo said quietly to her. She nodded and stayed silent. She couldn't muster the strength to say goodbye to them.

**Author's note:** Next chappie, we meet Sasuke and find out IF Okuni is really pregnant.


	4. The Lives and Times

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own SDK, despite my best efforts.

**Summary:** Just a chappie about people's lives.

**Notes:** Thanks for reviews. (plugplug) And Kim, will you text me when you're done reading, thanks. (plugplug)

**The lives and times.**

The ride home in the taxi was uncomfortably quiet. Yuya stayed completely silent, wringing her hands in her lap, twisting the corner of her skirt between her fingers. The rain lashed against the windows as the car hummed along the empty suburban streets.

Kyo sat with his elbow resting against the window, watching the rain dribble down the cool glass. The quiet stretched on for an endless eternity, but he refused to break it. He couldn't possibly make the first move to break it; otherwise the ritual would be corrupted.

Yuya could feel the tears well up at the bottom of her eyes. Her face flushed, her stomach clenched, her eyes stung with the effort of restraining the tears threatening to flow. Finally she couldn't take it anymore, the silence, the sadness and she edged closer to Kyo on the seat. The leather squeaked under her, she reached out her hands and grabbed a hold of his wide forearm, leaning her body against it, embracing it and burying her face into his shoulder. She allowed a few tears to free themselves but otherwise made no sound.

Kyo stayed motionless, as if he did not even notice the girl had latched herself onto his arm. But he did not push her away either. This was the ritual; this was the way it had to happen. Yuya was a creature of feeling who embraced the earth and every emotion in it, but suppressed her sadness, her anger and fear. These feelings would well up inside until she was ready to explode in one angry/sad/fearful tirade and Kyo would be the one to NEVER hear the end of it. So he allowed her to free her emotions more quietly at small intervals to avoid the outbursts and save his eardrums for another faithful day.

Yuya, grateful for his silent understanding, kept hold of his arm for the rest of their car journey.

The car murmured to a stop. Kyo paid their fare and shook his arm slightly to make Yuya move. She jumped a little, as if just woken up and got out of the car, throwing her arms over her head to stop the torrential rain. The car drove away and Kyo opened the front door, shaking the rain out of his hair as a dog would and stepping into the hall, Yuya following him all the way into the living room.

"Sit." He ordered and walked into the kitchen. And sit, she did so. She sat uncomfortably on the chair, as though this house was alien to her, frightened as a guilty child who knows that they're in trouble. This small house, simple, but with a touch of class, comfy and always warm is the place she has come to call her home. _Rented_ home, but once she did the washing and most of the cooking and at least half of the cleaning, Kyo really didn't care if she paid her rent or not.

She heard the clink of glasses and he re-emerged from the kitchen, carrying two glasses of amber coloured liquid. He passed a glass to her, with a much smaller measure than his and reclined on the brown sofa next to her.

"Drink it." He ordered.

Without thinking, she put the glass to her lips and downed a drop, only to splutter and choke as the strong liquid burned her throat and tongue.

"Wha-what the hell is this?" She spat after she finished spluttering.

"Whiskey." He replied smoothly.

"WHAT?"

"Wild Turkey to be precise." A little smirk curled at the edge of his mouth at her anger.

"You want me to get drunk?" She cried indignantly.

"No."

"Then what the-"

"You'll feel better." He interrupted quietly. "Drink."

He said no more, taking a particularly large swig from his glass. Any normal man would at least make a face at the size of the measure he took, but not Kyo. It was like water to him.

Yuya made a face at her glass. She didn't really feel like drinking, but then, she wasn't exactly in the best of moods, far from it infact, so maybe…

Kyo cast an eye over at her and she quickly took a drink from her glass. The whiskey stung as it ran down her throat and she felt her stomach boil as it hit the bottom. Then an oddly… warm, relaxed feeling over took and she calmed down.

_Okay Kyo, you were right,_ she thought dimly, _again_.

He waited a few seconds, until he heard her sigh and set down his empty glass on the table.

"Okay… now you can talk."

"But… I already-"

"I know you didn't say what you really wanted to say, so come on," he lay back in the chair and rested his feet up on the coffee table, "lay it on me."

Yuya stayed silent for a minute to register what he meant, then told him everything. Her story mostly just about the start, when they found Benitora and how much she felt like an idiot for not calling an ambulance.

Kyo folded his arms, readying himself for one long story. He wouldn't even have to open his mouth. Yuya would come to him with a problem, talk it over, realise her own mistake and then thank **him** for helping her. He never bothered to correct her though; he thought it might make her seem like a bit of a fool…

"…So then I called Akira for help and-"

"Wait wait wait. You called _Akira_ for help? Why? Didn't you already call the ambulance?" He interrupted.

"Well," Yuya played with her thumbs, "I thought he could help and we didn't know when the Ambulance would get there." Kyo raised one eyebrow. "Look, he was the only person I could think of, okay?" She snarled and continued with her story.

Kyo slumped back in his seat. She called that… that _little boy_ for help? Sure Akira was reliable, but he was just a little kid. Why didn't she call…?

He shook his head. She didn't trust him to do the right thing at the right time.

He quickly stopped thinking about himself when the tears once again welled up in her eyes as she told him about what happened in the ambulance.

They finally thought everything would be okay, when Benitora's shivering got worse and worse. She told him about how his chest convulsed and his eyes rolled back in his head. How his torso rose and fell as he thrashed. How she could hear the blood gargle in his lungs as he slowly drowned in his own fluid. How the doctor tried to restrain his convulsions. How he suddenly slumped back and stopped breathing, eyes wide open and white, completely bloodshot. How the doctor in the ambulance had to roughly shove a tube down his throat and drain the blood back out, using the other end to strap to an online respirator. How his body suddenly clamed and looked so weak, so helpless, not dead but not alive either. How it felt like watching a horror movie and poor Mahiro nearly collapsed.

Kyo bit his lower lip. He didn't think, didn't expect her to have seen so much. It must have… really scared her. _She's just a kid, she doesn't know what she's getting herself into if she wants to be a nurse…_

Yuya hugged herself and chocked out a sob. Kyo stood up and walked towards the kitchen.

"It's… it's all m-my fault!" She whimpered.

Kyo stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

"It is!" She cried. "It is my fault. Benitora nearly d-died because of me! I'm s-so stupid!"

She sobbed into her hands while Kyo turned to face her. He balled his fists, face set into a snarl.

"Don't be so selfish!" She snarled behind his teeth.

Yuya sniffed and looked up at him. "Wha-?"

"He's sick. You didn't make him sick! How selfish can you be? What gives you the right to take the blame for this, when it's clearly no ones fault. Feel sorry for yourself all you want, because **he's** the one in hospital strapped to that respirator. You wanna look for sympathy, go somewhere else. I don't have time for silly girls who look for attention when nothing's wrong with them."

With these words he walked out into the kitchen and through the back door, slamming it on his way out. She could imagine him lighting up a smoke and leaning against the wall, fists shaking and face set in an angry grimace.

Yuya stayed silent, still hugging herself, the tears poured their way down her face.

He was right. Again. Benitora was very sick, and here she was feeling sorry for _herself_. She did help, after all, what would have happened if she and Mahiro didn't find him? Would it be another incident with Sasuke coming in and finding him dead on the floor? The child is already pretty depressed, he didn't need much more.

She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. No, I won't feel sorry for myself, not anymore.

**-(Break)- **

It was Thursday again. Thursday was the day to do all the food orders and wine orders for The Grand Shogun, a popular restaurant in one of the more swanky parts of town.

Bontenmaru sighed and took off his reading glasses, brushing a stray silver hair away from his face. Sitting at the kitchen table with lots of order lists and a bunch of crap, he continued to scrawl out the seemingly endless orders for the kitchen. He laughed as he pictured himself with a monocle, after all he **did **only have one eye, why would he need glasses?

Food orders were a tedious task, especially when he wasn't standing in the walk in freezer, taking the stock. But he wanted to be at home with Okuni more than taking care of his restaurant.

The Grand Shogun was a grand restaurant indeed. Bontenmaru invested in the small property four years ago, and as the years went, his business grew to one of the most successful restaurants in town. He, the head chef, took care of nearly everything there, stock take, finances, menus, the people he employed, the people he fired and he was certainly one of the best at his job. Friendly, down to earth, intelligent and above all, kind and considerate made him excel in the ranks and the above qualities were what drew one Izumo No Okuni to him. Six months had passed since their marriage and Bon was happier than he had ever been in his life.

His current mood however, was not so happy. Stock take took several hours and he didn't even have the stock taken on the wine lists yet. He still had to go through the finances and see how much more they could bring in, he still needed to order more cutlery and plates, one of the new waitresses is a little shy and keeps breaking stuff…

He put down his pen and rubbed his eye. Benitora was very sick as well. There was that too. He couldn't say he wasn't worried, hell 'Tora gave him a bunch of paintings to fashion The Grand Shogun with when he was stuck for an artist. And he did it for _free_ because Bon was stuck for money. Hell he loved that kid, talented and funny as they came, now weak and helpless in hospital. Damn shame.

They needed more Man Vinters Shiraz, and that stuff didn't come cheap either…

"I finally get you home and you still won't cook for me!" Okuni whined at him as she walked into the kitchen wearing black velvet tracksuit bottoms and a blue string top. She had been practicing yoga in the living room, but had to stop for a break. Bon looked over at her and smiled as she opened the refrigerator.

"I mean really," she continued to nag "you're a chef! Head chef! And you won't even cook for your own wife? Where's my gourmet cooking? Where's-"

She was cut off in mid sentence when a pair of large hands wrapped around her waist and gently pulled her close. He laid his palms flat on her tiny stomach and his chin over her shoulder, breathing in her perfume and sighing.

"Don't get worked up, sweetheart." His voice had become at least two tones deeper than it's usual deep tenor that played arpeggios down her spine in a soft, comforting way. "It's not good for you." He patted her stomach and closed his eyes, still unable to believe it. If only his father was still alive to hear the news.

Okuni couldn't help but smile and closed the refrigerator door, returning her husband's embrace.

"I'm only three weeks in, you know." She said slowly.

"Doesn't matter." He said and took her hand, holding it above her head so she twirled out, her long hair flowing out in a river of black. "I don't want to take any chances. Not with you."

She twirled back in and embraced him, her head resting against his chest. Maybe she could let him away with the cooking, just for tonight.

"I love you." He said, holding her tight. "_Both_ of you."

**-(Break)-**

Thursday night and Sasuke was still doing homework. He sighed and slammed his maths book shut. It was impossible, truly impossible that he would ever need these pointless equations later on in life. He had enough on his mind anyway.

He rose from his bed, copybook falling to the floor as he did so but he pretended not to notice. How could he focus on his work, after finding out the news? Possibly the only person who accepted the fact that he was weird, and _liked_ that fact was sitting in a hospital bed.

Benitora to Sasuke was like an older brother. Sasuke was never normal per say. No one could call him human, because technically he wasn't. Sasuke has the unfortunate pleasure of being what was known as a _test tube baby_. An experiment. An abomination. Call him what you wish, Sasuke is not a normal child. Fifteen years of age, silver hair and yellow eyes with slits for pupils, abnormally strong and very stoic. Blessed with quick intelligence and a tongue sharper than any blade out there.

The only one who has ever accepted (and understood) all these traits was one Benitora. People usually try not to say anything to him about these traits for fear of offending him. What offended him was the fact that people try to ignore his abnormalities infront of him and whisper behind hands when he's not around. People pitied him for being so different. Benitora however, not only noticed the fact, but said it outright and embraced it. He said that things out of the ordinary were like a source of inspiration to him, and was glad Sasuke was more like himself than the clones he seems to find every passing day. He took no pity on him, but praised the fact that he was so unique.

This comment brought a little smile to his sharp featured face, and although Sasuke thought Benitora of a bit of a fool, he really brought him down to earth and made him feel more human, and at the same time made him feel like what he really was. It was a good way to be.

_Unique_.

He padded into the kitchen in his pyjamas, searching for the last bottle of coke before Yukimura would notice. He located it and walked back through the living room nodding at Yukimura on the couch, who was watching TV.

"Sasuke, wait!" He called just as Sasuke turned the handle for the hallway. He clenched his eyes shut. _What now?_

"I want to talk to you." Yukimura swung his legs from his lounging position and patted the couch beside him. With a sigh, Sasuke sat down and opened the bottle, drinking without once looking up.

"I know you've been kind of depressed lately…" He began. Sasuke rolled his eyes. _Here we go again…_

"Don't roll your eyes. I'm just saying… try to cheer up, okay? That girl, she isn't worth getting upset over."

"It's not about her." He said slowly. "I'm fifteen, it's called being hormonal. I'll be fine."

Yukimura frowned at him, which made Sasuke try harder not to offend him. "Trust me." He stood up and turned the handle on the door to the hallway. "You'll see, I'll be fine. I'm jut trying to sort my head out."

With that he walked out into the hallway and proceeded up the stairs.

"I trust you, Sasuke." He heard Yukimura say sadly from the living room. He stooped for a second to think, then with a sigh, walked up the rest of the stairs and flopped back onto his bed.

He didn't like making Yukimura sad. It was just his stoic manner. He adopted it from talking to Akira for too long, mostly just about asking for help with his maths homework. He respects Akira great deal. He seemed so together, like a man who had his whole life ahead of him and was completely and utterly ready for it.

But you can't be stoic or sad around Yukimura. At least Sasuke couldn't. He was never his father, but Sasuke liked to believe he was. After Sasuke was "born", he was kept in a "home" at the laboratory. The scientists tried to find him a suitable home but no one seemed to want him, due to his abnormalities. Then Yukimura, who found out from newspapers and the like that this child needed a family pronto, took pity on his loneliness and gave him a place to stay.

Because Yukimura was a very lonely person. Unable to stay in a relationship for too long, dangerously overactive libido and a fondness for drink destroyed his romantic relationships, when really, he just wanted someone to care for. He wanted to turn his life around, and taking in Sasuke at the tender age of seven changed his life completely. He drank less and was able to stick to a full time job, mostly just because someone was there who depended on him, who he cared for.

Sasuke was like a gift, a child in desperate need for a family, for a man in desperate need of responsibility, Sasuke was the very thing that saved Yukimura from the gutter, and in time (very short time) grew to know him as "father".

Now Sasuke wasn't allowed to be sad, but the point **was** that he wasn't sad. It was just his age; mood swings and the like were commonplace. He's just trying to find the right state of mind, that's all. He just wished someone would understand this.

He thought about talking to Benitora about this, being the understanding soul he is, but then he remembered he was in the hospital. His bad mood deepened.

I wish I could find someone who could understand me. Because I don't understand me! Someone other than Benitora!

He sighed and turned over, knocking his pencil case to floor, but ignored it. _I thought she understood me…_

He punched his pillow. _No! I refuse to get angry over her! She never understood me! She just pitied me! She just…_

He turned onto his back and stared at the posters on his ceiling. System of a Down, Metallica and Audioslave all glared down at him from the ceiling, but offered no solace.

_Why do I care? What's the point in getting so worked up about this anyway? Why can't I just…_

Flow… 

Sasuke turned back over and crawled under the covers, promising himself to go visit Benitora at the hospital after school tomorrow to see if he can sort it out. He smiled, the words that cheered him up one day that Benitora said, words that he promised he would never forget.

… _You wouldn't understand 'Tora. _

_Hmm, why?_

_You don't know what it's like to be… a freak. _

_I dunno… I mean, look at me Sasuke. I am a ginger you know._

**Author's notes: **I will give cyber cookies to those who can tell where I got the name for Bon-san's restaurant!


End file.
